


Cheerful Mastery

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Serial: s134 Planet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-01
Updated: 2008-03-01
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Master is in need of some sex. And Five is just… there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheerful Mastery

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

It’s been a while since Turlough left to get the milk, and the Doctor is starting to actually consider overhauling the transdimentional stabilisers. Sighing, he slips his hands in his pockets and stares at the white roundel in contemplation, flicking a stray blond hair from his face with a shake of his head. Been a while since he was blond last… he’s starting to enjoy it again.

He plays with his pockets for a while, feeling the lint and dipping lower into the second field of the dimensions and searching for that packet of jelly babies he knows he put there last week. Grinning as they emerge, he puts one in his mouth before returning to stare at the pesky roundel that has now topped his priority list. They’ve been in need of a look for a while, and they’re barely staying held together as it is.

He’s about to twist the roundel off when there’s a brilliantly distracting noise from outside the console room, and he seizes this moment to procrastinate the repairs a little longer. Perhaps he can coerce Turlough into helping him when he comes back. 

Heading down the corridors he tries to concentrate on his hearing, straining to hear the soft groans and bumping sounds that are emerging from a particular room.

‘Turlough? Is that you?’ He calls bemusedly, wondering how on Gallifrey Turlough could have gotten back from the markets and through the console room without him noticing. He pushes the door open, finding something small amiss, someone unexpected.

‘Last time I use a shoddily-made vortex manipulator to travel through time.’ 

The man groans again, and the Doctor leans against the wall, hands in pockets once more, and coughs. ‘Can I help you?’

The man spins around on the bed with alarm and groans again, glaring at the contraption strapped around his wrist.

‘Wrong place, wrong time, wrong _Doctor._ Is there anything this thing _can_ do?’

The Doctor just raises an eyebrow. ‘Master?’

‘Yes?’ Snaps the Master, bringing the vortex manipulator in front of him and trying to reset the coordinates. He waves to the Doctor and presses a button. Nothing happens. ‘Oh well,’ he mutters. ‘Might as well make do.’

He reaches into a pocket and retrieves his laser screwdriver, pointing it at the Doctor.

‘Gone a bit up-market this time, have we?’ The Doctor grins, not having moved since entering the room.

‘Save me the heroics and just put your hands up, will you?’

‘Does that one shrink innocent people too?’

‘You should see what it did to your future counterpart. Oh, now there’s a happy thought. At least you still have that to look forward to, Doctor. Although, there I go again, playing with your personal time-line.’ He beams. ‘I won’t ask again. Hands up, and walk to the console room.’

The Doctor sighs theatrically and does so, turning around the corner and walking the winding corridors to the anticipated room. 

‘I don’t see what good this will do,’ he says, now leaning against the roundels as the Master plays with the TARDIS controls. ‘I’m assuming that you’re a Master from my future – because last time I checked, you didn’t look like _that_ – so therefore, the moment you go _anywhere_ without my companion, you’ll be playing with your own personal timeline, since you seem to be incessantly stalking me these days. The moment you change that timeline, you might-’

‘Yes, yes, Doctor, I know the rules of time. Better than you, I might add.’ The Master turns around, eyebrows raised before returning to the console. ‘Now shut up while I convince your contraption to move through time and space. She’s even more senile than she was in your future regeneration, if that’s possible. Was. Is.’ 

He throws his hands in the air. This flailing motion hits flesh and he spins the Doctor around in a half-pirouette to stop the other Time Lord sneaking up behind him. Bending the Doctor’s arm painfully behind his back, he leans in close and whispers in his ear. ‘Do I look that stupid to you? But, I suppose, if you’re going to play the heroics game, I won’t deprive you of what goes with it…’ He looks up as he digs into his pockets, staring at the ceiling as if it has the answer to where the object of his search is before retrieving a pair of handcuffs and snapping them on the Doctor’s wrists. ‘Now, you can sit in the corner while I do what I need to do.’

‘Wreak havoc on time and space?’

‘Naturally,’ the Master answers dryly. ‘And no, I’m not going to tell you what I’m about to do because, firstly, it will affect both my and your future, and we don’t want any nasty paradoxes now, do we? And secondly, because it is, frankly, none of your business.’

‘None of my business? I’m going to take a guess that what you’re about to do will affect me in future times, so yes, I do believe it’s my business.’

The Master just waves a hand impatiently. ‘Do shut up.’ He programs the coordinates and slaps his hand down hard on the controls to dematerialise the ship. Silently, it slips through the vortex, beginning to rattle as it skips over the hasty stitches in time the Time War made.

‘Thank you for the lift,’ he grins, looking at the Doctor, now mildly staring at the console with a vague expression on his face. ‘But oh, you do look so pretty sitting there.’ He slips his hand into his pocket once more, retrieving a pair of leather gloves and sliding them on before kneeling beside the Doctor and cupping his face in one hand. As he strokes the Doctor’s cheek firmly, the other Time Lord swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The leather slides across soft red lips, and parts them, entering three fingers through the Doctor’s now slackened teeth and into his mouth. ‘Feel free to fight back whenever you deem it necessary,’ he grins wickedly, teasing the other man’s tongue with the leather-coated fingers. He retrieves the hand once he notices the Doctor coming properly to his senses and leans in to place a crushing kiss on his nemesis’ lips. He keeps the contact until he feels the Doctor kissing back (predictable, this one, almost as bad as the tenth regeneration) and then slips his hand over the catch on the Doctor’s trousers, popping the catch and working the zip down. The Doctor’s lips play with his, but he can see his eyes searching for the door, hoping for a miracle. He kisses harder, lifting the Doctor’s top lip up and pushing on it so that the skin inside reaches maximum strain, eliciting an uncontrolled moan from the other Time Lord.

The Master just smiles gleefully and snaps the Doctor’s suspenders undone, slipping the pants off his hips and down by his knees. He pulls his lips away from the Doctor’s, sliding a hand down the other man’s cheek once more and watching as the Doctor’s eyes flutter closed. He can feel himself pulsing within his trousers, straining against the fabric. But he’ll have to restrain himself. 

‘One day, you’ll thank me for this, Doctor. Count it as penance for the great injustice that you do in your future.’

The Doctor’s eyes are still closed, and he strokes his thumb up and down his cheek before dragging his hand down the Doctor’s arm, feeling the coolness of the handcuff chain in his fingers. He leans down on it heavily and watches the Doctor grimace in pain from the metal digging into his wrists. Such a beautiful sight. He leans in again and collects a softer kiss, pulling the Doctor’s wrists above his head and turning him on his front in one swift movement as he arches away from the soft lips. He runs a gloved finger over the fine blond hairs on the Doctor’s rear and smiles. ‘How I remember this. The good old days, Doctor. Do you remember?’

The Doctor just groans, and he grins wickedly. ‘I remember how you begged. Are you going to beg this time, Doctor?’ There’s no reply, so the Master pulls his head back by its hairs, watching those intelligent eyes flood with pain. ‘You know how I hate to be kept waiting.’

‘Please, Master.’

‘Much better. Since you asked…’ He slides the hand that isn’t currently holding the Doctor’s head up into his counterpart’s mouth and lets the other man spit a generous amount of saliva onto the gloves before letting go of his head and parting the arse cheeks, entering first with one finger, then two, as the Doctor gives a small grunt, attempting to relax in order to ease the pain, if only a little.

‘That’s it…’ Allowing himself a brief moment, he withdraws the fingers and stands up, away from the man in front of him, his soft, round, white arse gleaming in the light from the console, and undoes his own belt and trousers, slipping them and his pants down before returning to the sight before him. The Doctor gasps as he enters, moaning slightly as he pushes up inward, driving harder and harder. 

By the time he deems their little partnership over, he pulls away, sliding up his clothing and doing up his trousers, stuffing his shirt neatly into the waist before buckling the belt. 

‘Well, it was lovely having a little catch-up, Doctor,’ he grins as the Doctor turns himself over, fumbling with his pants awkwardly. ‘Hope you can remember the coordinates for where you last were, or poor Turlough will be waiting there an awful long time. Have fun.’

With that, he slips out of the TARDIS doors and closes them firmly behind him, giggling to himself as he strides over to his own TARDIS, right where he left it at the end of the Time War.

~*~

When the Doctor lands on the planet Yiman sometime after that whole business with the Titanic, the last thing he expects is the Master sitting peaceably on a park bench in front of the TARDIS.

‘Hello,’ he says cheerily with an evil grin.

‘Wha-? How?’ The Doctors eyes widen. ‘Never mind that, not like I’ve never seen you come back from the dead before, but how did you get _here_? Your ashes – I’m assuming it was your ashes plus a few drops of handy-dandy replica DNA that brought you back – were on Earth.’

‘They were,’ confirms the Master with a pleased smile. ‘I arrived here in my TARDIS about…’ he looks at his watch. ‘Two minutes ago.’ 

‘Your TARDIS? How-’

‘Do you remember, Doctor? Ohhh, five regenerations ago? You kindly gave me a lift to Malcassairo.’ 

‘I did not-’ He pauses, remembering and flushing slightly. ‘Oh…’

The Master just grins wickedly. ‘You begged for me. Do you remember?’ He laughs softly as the Doctor blushes, staring at his shoes with embarrassment. ‘Blocked that one out, had we?’ He grins. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a civilisation to take over. I’ll be on the planet Shika if you’re looking for me. It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough fun if you didn’t join the party.’ He grins, pleased, and steps backwards, opening a newly-appeared door in the tree behind him and waving. 

The tree dematerialises, and the Doctor runs back into his own TARDIS.

Another day, another civilisation to save. 

If he ever has another of those little catch-up sessions with his previous regenerations, he’s going to give them a stern talking to about not having sex with the Master… especially not the Master from their futures.

If only because it doesn’t half give him a headache afterwards. He still can’t remember if Turlough actually ended up getting any milk.


End file.
